Relative Ease
by Stone Jackal
Summary: He had missed it. The point within the last five years that she had went from employee to friend. The transition was smooth; seamless. Could their relationship continue to change with the same kind of relative ease?
1. Going Fast

**Title: **It all started with a pair of tickets.

**Summary: **She wanted to go fast.

**Disclaimer: **House MD belongs to FOX and affliates. I'm just having a little fun.

**Author's Notes: **I got the idea for this while I was watching S1 of House. Sports Medicine has always been one of my favorites. TI think this story has the potential to be more than a one-shot, but I'll leave it up to you.

-----------------------------

"Hey."

House looked up from his PSP to find a blonde Allison Cameron leaning against the door frame to his office door, then his attention was turned back to his handheld game,

"Sorry, you don't work up here," A few more whirs and beeps emitted from his game; House's brow furrowed then relaxed as his thumbs flew over the buttons, "You're downstairs. More blood, more guts, more crying, and it's mind-numbingly boring," he pulled a face as the game bleeped its end. Setting the electronic on his desk, he swiveled the chair so he faced her, "You can't miss it."

Cameron gave him a smirk, feigning a disappointed sigh, "Fine, I'll just go back to my mind-numbing boredom, and won't even ask you if you want one of these," removing her hand from her scrubs pocket, she dangled a pair of passes on lanyards from her index finger, "_Damn_, I guess I'll have to find somebody else. _Dang it_."

Peering at the laminated cardboard rectangles as they swung like pendulums, House extricated himself from his chair, limping around his desk, "Hey, are those-"

"Monster truck tickets?" Cameron glanced from him to the tickets and back, "Yeah, they are. It's too bad though, that you're not interested," she heaved another phony disappointed sigh, "Oh well."

"I never said I wasn't interested," House blurted, pulling her back into his office by a hand on her wrist when she made to leave. Cameron smiled; a real cat-that-ate-the-canary-smile.

House inspected the passes, asking with the usual indifference, "Why don't you take your boyfriend?"

"My who?"

"Y'know, the wombat with the ambiguous accent and the perfect hair. I'm sure he'd appreciate the finer points of a loud arena, watching trucks crush stuff. It's cathartic, and he could use a little revitalizing."

"Listen House," she evaded his question, side-stepping it with practiced ease, "I love monster trucks. You turned me on," she paused there, merely for his wide-eyed reaction, "To them, and I thought you'd want to come."

Cameron could _feel_ House looking at her, searching her. She tried to appear nonchalant, but it was slipping, "I'll get you cotton candy."

He seemed to consider this, waving the passes in his hand, "These good seats?"

"We could die," she answered promptly, remembering his own proclamation a few years before, "You want 'em or not?"

"Fine," House conceded, playing the whole thing like it was a huge imposition, but in actuality, his reaction was the complete opposite, "But I expect hot dogs. And a super-sized slushie. None of that wussy regular size."

"Of course," Cameron remarked reverently, "Because real men only drink big gulps."

House was surprised again, but he recovered nicely "Exactly. Only sissies and babies can't do the dew."

Snickering, Cameron pried the passes from his fingers and tucked them into her scrubs shirt pocket, "Okay, great. Pick me up at seven."

"Pick you up?" House snarked, trying to recapture the upper-hand in the conversation, "You're the one orchestrating this little-"

"Bring your bike," Her saucy smile threw House completely off-balance again, "I want to go fast."

With that, she left the diagnostician's office without a backward glance; leaving House to thoughtfully return to his chair.

He picked up his PSP, but as his thumb hovered over the _START_ button, a genuine smile curled at his lips.

_She wanted to go fast._

Ooooh boy.

He'd show her fast.


	2. TêteàTête

**Chapter Two: **Tête-à-Tête

**Author's Notes: **I realize that it's been a while since I've gone anywhere near this story, but I have a chapter or so for it, and I thought _Why not?_

I'm going to note from the start that this chapter seems a little rough on Chase. Also, Kutner makes an appearance in this one, because it was written before he left (RIP Kutner) and he was always my favorite of the "new ducklings". : )

Thanks to those who read and reviewed the first chapter!

**Disclaimer:** House, MD belongs to FOX, David Shore, etc. I'm just borrowing these characters/settings for amusement purposes.

-----------------

"I think I'll have fingerprints on my ribs," he joked as he limped into the diner, the blinking light from the neon _Open 24-Hours_ sign falling across his face as he passed through the door.

"I think you should let me steer on the way back," she decided, following in right behind him. She removed the motorcycle helmet, and shook out her hair; blonde waves falling down her back.

"You?" he laughed, "You wobble on high heels."

"Only when pushed," she returned slyly.

He grinned, his eyes clearly asking –who? me?- "Besides, the bike's too big for you. You're too petite and fragile; it would topple, and crush you Blondie."

"Is that right?" choosing a table off to the side and towards the back, she sat down, drawing her elbows to the tabletop, fists propped under her chin, "I'm about ready to fade away."

"If we don't get some food into you _stat_ you just might," seating himself, he reached around the corner of the table to poke her in the ribs, "Turn sideways. I want to see if you disappear."

"Want me to stick my tongue out too? Do my bestest zipper impression?"

They'd soon ordered; a burger, fries, and chocolate shake for him, a wild berry smoothie for her. Since there weren't many in the small diner, the wait wasn't long for the food, and when it arrived, House dug in. Cameron took a long pull from her frothy beverage, and shook her head, "I don't know how you can eat so much and keep it down. Especially after what you ate at the rally."

"Yeah, well, I don't know how you can eat so little. Mysteries of the universe," he quickly glossed over that point so he could raise the more pressing one his mind had been waiting for an opportunity to present, "So, what happened with you and the wombat?"

"Are you going to ruin a perfectly pleasurable evening out with personal questions?" she quipped, her eyes on her smoothie as she stirred at it with the straw. She took another sip, the tip of her tongue darting out to catch the slight spillage at the corner of her mouth just before she answered, "We broke up."

"Ah," was his reply around a mouthful of hamburger. He would have said more, and intended too, but was prevented for a few moments by the large bite he'd taken. Instead, he watched her as he finished chewing; not missing that she squirmed slightly under his stare,

"You remember when the kids thought you had the clap?"

Chuckling to himself for his own brilliance, House swallowed, and then nodded, "Yeah."

"Well, them, and Foreman, Chase and I were all discussing that maybe you were the way you are because of it," Cameron explained, looking up and reaching across to snitch a couple of his fries.

"Uh-huh," House prompted, blocking her hand as she reached for another fry, "Nu-uh, story first. Then, maybe, I'll share with you."

"Fiiiine," she took a drink of her smoothie and then spoke to the cup, "So Chase decides to ask me, out of the blue, in the midst of all of them, whether I'd slept with you."

He picked the worse moment to take a drink of his chocolate shake. The beverage caught in his throat, and he made a hacking noise. Startled, her gaze instantly went to his face,

"House—Greg? Are you okay?"

He gulped, then nodded, "Yeah," he gave a cough to clear his throat, then, "I'm fine. What'd you tell him?"

Tenderly, she wiped the dribble of chocolate milkshake that was melting in the three-day scruff on his chin, "I told him it was none of his business."

"He didn't like that," it was a statement, not a question. Their eyes were locked together, blue-on-blue; even as she lowered the napkin in her hand back to the tabletop.

"No," she agreed, balling the napkin in her fist, "He didn't. He started making these oh-so-clever comments," her tone suggested that _clever_ was the last adjective she'd choose to describe Chase right now, "Little things like if I'd seen the 'new us' that day, or if Cuddy had me doing your charts again, if I was glad to be playing secretary again; until I got sick of it. Then he wanted me to tell him what I'd done all day, like I had to retrace my steps, in case I forgot some passionate tryst you and I had had in the supply closet."

A myriad of emotions flowed through House; but surprise was the only one that played out on his face. Cameron was definitely less reserved than she had been when she'd first come to work for him. Now, she rolled so much more easily with the punches; sometimes even throwing a few of her own, "Then what?"

She took her time, casually reaching out to take a few more of his fries, and eating them before answering, "I told him to back off, and that if he didn't trust me then it would be stupid to stay together. So, we broke up," giving a one shouldered shrug, she continued, "Then this week, I get a sunflower taped to my locker with a note."

"What'd it say?" House asked curiously, offering her the plate of fries, while popping a few into his own mouth.

"It's Tuesday."

"What the _hell _does that mean?" blankly, House blurted, "Did you need a day-to-day prompter, or is he being deliberately obtuse? Wait," he paused, dunking his fry in the ketchup, "It's Chase. Stupid question."

"Haha," Cameron plucked a particularly crispy fry from the platter, "He used to tell me every Tuesday that he liked me when I broke it off the first time."

"Shame on you for falling for such a moron," an aptly placed pause, then "—ic method. How long does he expect to keep going? How come you didn't hit him?"

"All very good questions," Cameron conceded, "He wore me down, I guess. I—I decided to give it a try. It didn't work, it's over," she sighed, gave a tight, closed lip smile; before taking another couple fries, "Aren't you glad you asked?"

"Ye—ah," he pulled a _duh_ face, "Real drama. Better than the soaps."

"Of course," Cameron again stirred at her drink, "Glad my messed up life could live up to your standards."

"It's definitely an honor to be proud of," House concurred, with all teasing seriousness, but he reached over to place his large hand over her small one on the sticky diner tabletop, asking gruffly, "You okay?"

Cameron nodded; shocked that he'd taken her hand in his; that he was sincerely asking about her welfare. Smiling sweetly, she gave his hand a firm squeeze, "Yeah. I'm fine."

He nodded, not saying anything, but not releasing her hand either.

--------

"I swear Cam," Foreman shook his head, fiercely cutting into his cafeteria-made lasagna; "It was one of the most disconcerting things I've ever seen. House was out-and-out smiling."

She chuckled, "What'd he just done? Made Taub raise his voice? Made Kutner pee himself? Or did Thirteen finally have a facial expression?"

Foreman gave her a strangled look as he strained not to spit his mouthful of lasagna across the table. Cameron merely peered back at him, concerned and innocent.

"Devious," Foreman accused after he'd satisfactorily swallowed, "You've picked up a few things from him."

Cameron shrugged, still appearing quite innocent, "Maybe a few."

"Hey Cameron, Foreman," Chase stopped at their table, dressed in his usual attire of dull colored scrubs, "You look like you're having fun."

"Yeah," Foreman replied, but wouldn't ask the other former fellow to sit. If he had to choose; Cameron was his friend, Chase was a colleague. Besides, he'd been privy to Chase's jealousy over Cameron and her relationship (whether said relationship was existent or purely speculative) with their former boss. Cameron had made it clear that she wasn't going to tip-toe around either Chase's issues with House or avoid contact with the man himself, so the relationship between her and Chase had come to an end. Only now, Chase had changed his mind about the _it's over_ part.

"Um, Cameron," Chase turned his attention to her, "Did you get the flower I left you?"

"Yes Chase, I got it. It was very pretty," Cameron placed both palms on the table as she stood, "But we both know it's over."

"Oh, so you've already hooked House, have you?" Chase snapped angrily, and Cameron was immediately on the defensive,

"I'm sorry your feelings got hurt—"

"Really?"

"Really. But it's over. You have to stop leaving things on my locker."

"Why? Your old man going to come after me with his cane?" immediately after the words had left his mouth, Chase realized he was going too far. He didn't know why he was saying what he was, but the words kept spilling out of his mouth.

Furious, Cameron's eyes flashed, "You were the one who told me that if I wanted House, I had to take him. Jump him," she stared right through him, giving the surgeon an eerie feeling, "Good advice. _Good_ advice."

Chase said nothing; Foreman chose to remain silent. Cameron merely folded herself gracefully back into her chair. The staring contest continued until Chase's pager began to beep, and with a parting glance, he strode away at a fast clip.

"What was that about?" Kutner asked as he, Thirteen, and Taub approached the table, each with their lunch in hand.

"Nothing," Cameron brushed it aside, "What's up—do you guys want to sit?"

"Sure," Kutner broke into a big grin and dropped into the chair beside her. Taub rolled his eyes before taking his own seat. Thirteen followed suit.

"What's going on?" Kutner asked, shoving a forkful of his cafeteria special into his mouth, "Anybody got any plans for the weekend?"

Sitting back, Cameron let their chatter wash over her. Her mind wandered back to the previous evening. The monster truck rally; going to the diner. It had been a good night. Fun. Without awkward stress, and tension, and jealous insecurities. It was just so easy and comfortable to sit and talk, tease, or even just to stay quiet. Last night had been the most relaxed she had been a long, long time.

She sighed, leaned back in her chair, and stuck her hands into her pockets. Inside the thin lab coat pocket, her fingertips brushed a piece of molded plastic. Removing the item from her pocket, she couldn't help but smile. A miniature model toy; painted to look like Grave Digger; her favorite monster truck.

"Cameron—what's that?" Thirteen's voice broke into her reverie, and she absently replied,

"A model monster truck," she turned the toy in her hand. _How had it gotten into her pocket?_

"A monster truck?" Kutner was talking again, "They are so cool. You like monster trucks?"

"Love them," Cameron responded softly, realizing the _who_, but still working on the _how_.

"Man, I wish I could've went to the rally last night," Kutner said wistfully, "I heard it was supposed to be amazing."

Thirteen rolled her eyes, as if she was superior to the whole idea, "Why didn't you go then?"

"It was practically impossible to get passes," he explained, poking at his lunch, "Unless you know someone with inside connections."

"Inside monster truck connections?" Taub condescended, peering at Kutner disbelievingly. He wouldn't come right out and say that the other doctor was juvenile, because that would mean he was accusing Cameron of the same thing. And he wouldn't alienate her that way; she was his superior, and she had the best insights when it came to dealing with House's insanity.

"Sure," Kutner ignored Taub's superiority complex, and murmured again, "It was supposed to be amazing."

"Was," Cameron muttered; her attention still on the truck she held.

Kutner gaped at the blonde, his regard for her rising rapidly once again, "You went?"

Before she could answer, her pager began bleating; effectively cutting her off. Checking the screen, she read; _Clinic room 2. STAT_. "Got to go," she announced, quickly leaving the table and exiting the cafeteria.

"Cameron," Kutner decided as she left, "Is so cool. No wonder House likes her so much."

"What?" Taub and Thirteen were taken aback, while Foreman remained silent, but thoughtful, "Why would—House doesn't like anybody. Except maybe Wilson."

"Then why would he offer to fire one of us if she wanted to come back? Why would he venture down to the ER so often since she's taken it over?" Kutner raised each issue, proving perhaps he knew more of their employer than the others, "House practically begged Cameron to come back a couple of years ago."

"How do you know that?" Taub asked, gawking at his colleague.

"House and Cameron are a hot topic on the rumor mill," Kutner explained, this time he was the one with the superior tone, "They've dated at least a couple of times; most of the nurses have bets on whether or not they've done the nasty," Watching his colleagues closely, Kutner was surprised, and had to question, "You guys didn't know anything about this?"

Taub was simply baffled; while Thirteen turned to Foreman, "House dated Cameron?"

"I don't really know if you could call it dating," Foreman wanted desperately to evade. Speculating on his friend's relationship with his boss was not his idea of a way to pass a leisurely lunch hour.

"See!" triumphantly, Kutner nearly bounced on his seat, "It's true."

Taub still seemed confused, "What about Chase then? Obviously, according to Kutner, he'd have every right to think Cameron was sleeping with House."

"Maybe _this_ was what Cameron was trying to avoid," Thirteen reasoned, pushing the leaves of lettuce in her salad around the plastic bowl.

"Chase finding out?" Taub suggested.

"No, this whole," she gestured around the cafeteria table, "Round table speculation thing. It's none of our business if Cameron and House _are_ 'hooking up', even if it is behind Chase's back. Why do you guys care if Chase was a fling and House and Cameron are really 'meant to be'?"

"You're not curious, at all?" Kutner made a face while Taub shrugged. The three of them looked to Foreman, who held up both hands, palms forward,

"Oh, no. Don't drag me into this."

------------

Entering the clinic's exam room two, Cameron found House stretched out on the exam table, once again playing his video games. A hand on one hip, she jutted the other hip out to the side as she stood just inside the closed exam room door, "You paged?"

He paused the game, and then with a hand under his right thigh, House swung himself around to sit up, "I need a consult."

"Where's the patient?" she stepped further into the room, appreciatively noting just how handsome he looked with his scruffy stubble and The Who t-shirt. The blue button-down he wore over the t-shirt made his piercing eyes stand out all the more.

"I'm here," he said, pouting. Seeing a tiny smile budding on her face, he tugged his shirt up past his ribs on one side, "See? I'm bruised."

"Poor baby," approaching the exam table, she gently palpated the area around the bruises, his skin warm under her fingers, "Does it hurt?"

He looked at her, deviousness and amusement flashing over his face, "You going to kiss it better if I say yes?"

"Hmmm," Cameron considered it, then stepped back and covered her recovery from their close proximity by fixing her hair back in to a fabric-covered elastic she rolled off of her wrist, "We'll see."

"Really?" his voice came out higher than normal, before he managed to squelch whatever impulse caused it. Tamping that down, he tried again, "Really?"

Reaching into her lab coat pocket, she brought out the truck she'd discovered earlier, spinning it between her hands. Her face seemed to promise, and House let his shirts fall back into place, "We'll see, the prospect looks promising."

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist my pure animal magnetism," House grinned, and Cameron couldn't help but return it with one of her own,

"Yeah, sure. _That's _what that is."

-------------


	3. Rumor Mill

**Chapter Three: **Rumor Mill

**Author's Notes: **A big thank you to everybody that reviewed! I've got another chapter, and I hope you like it. : )

**Disclaimer: **Same one still applies. No infringement intended.

-----------------

Wilson couldn't believe it. House; with a strangely peaceful, almost anticipatory expression on his face, limped from the direction of the clinic. Surely he had just spent the morning napping and playing video games, flying comfortably under the guise of seeing patients.

"Did you just come from the clinic?" Wilson had to ask, catching up to House at the elevator, "Are you smiling?"

"Jimmy, wow, didn't recognize you without your new master," House stabbed the elevator _up_ button with the rubber jacketed end of his cane, "Is that a new collar?"

"I know," Wilson sighed, expecting the sarcastic jabs, "I know I've been spending most of my time with Amber. I've been neglecting you. I don't know how you've survived."

"Ha," the elevator doors swished open and both men entered the car, "Your abandonment has allowed me to pursue other relationships, new horizons."

"Really?" turning to face the door and dunking his hands into his pockets, Wilson asked, "Tell me, you spent last night at home, alone, drinking and watching cartoons didn't you?"

"Nope," House smirked, "I'll have you know you're not my only friend."

"Imaginary ones don't count," Wilson cracked, glancing over at House in time to catch the diagnostician's feigned insulted look, "Wait, I suppose there's Carl, from bookkeeping."

"Kevin."

"His name's _still_ Carl."

"Not his club name," House protested, "But it's a _secret_ club, so I can't tell _you_. _You're _not a member."

"I'll try to contain my heartbreak," Wilson shook his head, "You wanna hang out tonight? Get some take-out and mock television idiocy?"

"_El Capitan's _letting you out past when the street lights come on?" House marveled mockingly, "Amazing."

Wilson rolled his eyes, as was his signature, "Y'know, you wouldn't be so jealous if you had a girlfriend of your own."

"Yeah, sure," House covered the wheels revolving in his head with a joke, "And maybe it'll start raining puppies, and we'll cure patients with hearts and flowers. I'll find love, and all will be right with the world."

"There's a thought," the oncologist muttered with a diverted snort as the elevator dinged they'd arrived at the correct floor.

"Y'know, you could lend me your girlfriend," House posed sounding completely serious as he switched his cane from one hand to the other as he prepared to exit the elevator car, "Kind of like a test drive."

Wilson glossed over _that_, "Maybe it's time you dated. How long has it been? Eons?"

"They flock to me," House threw over his shoulder as he limped from the car, turning towards the direction of their offices as Wilson fell into step beside him, "I'm a wounded soul. Draws 'em in like flies to poop."

"That's a disgusting image," following after his limping friend, Wilson pondered aloud, "Your last actual date was more than three years ago; when you were trying to bamboozle Cameron into coming back," furrowing his brow, Wilson began coming to conclusions, "What happened on that date anyway? Neither one of you would really talk about it afterward, but it didn't seem to have gone well."

"You want to carry out a post mortem on an evening out three _years_ ago?" House stopped at his office door, "Don't you have better things to do? Like bowing to your girlfriend's will; or earning your hallowed title as patron saint of bald cancer stricken children?"

House pushed the glass door to his office open, but Wilson's voice stopped his half-way through,

"It's been four years House. Either shit or get off the pot."

------

"Hello Doctor Cameron."

Cameron turned around in her ER to find Amber standing by the desk counter that was tucked into one corner.

"Hello Doctor Volakis," finishing scribbling the notes she was making on a chart, she glanced to the visitor and then back, "What can I do for you?"

Not bothering to pretend she was there for a social call, Amber jumped into the meat-and-potatoes of her visit, "You've probably already heard about James and me."

"Probably," Cameron agreed, "And I'm not trying to be selfish here, but what does that have to do with me?"

"James has been friends with House for a long time," Amber began, and Cameron finished,

"And you're looking for insider tips on dealing with the beast."

"Basically," the woman who'd been nicknamed Cutthroat-Bitch nodded deftly, "Any suggestions?"

"Why ask me?" Cameron hooked the chart onto the end of the bed and crossed to the counter, pausing mid-stride to give a passing intern instructions on a newly admitted patient.

"You know House, you've worked with him for years," Amber paused, throwing out the next classification purely to satisfy her curiosity and to garner a reaction from the other blonde, "Dated him."

Cameron sighed, her attention now on the pile of charts under the counter. There was hours of work right there, "I don't see how I can help you," she'd heard the poke at the nature of her relationship with House, and frankly, she was too tired of dealing with people pushing their noses in where they didn't belong to bother rising to the occasion and pointing it out.

"You must have _some_thing," Amber pushed, as was her way, "When he's poked a sharp stick in just about every crevice he can reach, and when you think someone couldn't hit any lower," she trailed off, more because Cameron had picked up her train of thought than because she'd run out of words,

"House gets a shovel," Cameron finished for her, sighing again and bending down to inspect the box of haphazardly piled charts under the counter. Kneeling there on the cold, linoleum floor, her head and shoulders completely disappeared from sight as she reached under the counter, she advised, "Don't let him see how much he's pissing you off. Play his game if you have to. He'll be thrown off balance a time or two before he catches on, but it's fun while it lasts," finally backing out and looking up, the head ER resident shrugged, "Eventually Wilson's gonna have to be the one telling House to eat it, not you."

Amber agreed, grinning, "Still, it pays to be prepared," she reached out to offer the other woman a hand up, and Cameron accepted warily. Back on her feet, the two exchanged knowing smiles.

----

"So, Wilson thinks I should get a girlfriend," House announced that evening, clapping a beer down onto the table for her and one for himself before swinging himself around to sit beside her. He'd shocked her, when he'd arrived in the ER late in the afternoon and extended an invite to get a drink. She had thought that getting a drink would have meant meeting him a bar somewhere off the beaten path, but he surprised her again with a mumbled _seven-thirty, my place_.

"Does he?" Cameron marveled, trying to twist the top from her beer. Succeeding, she then fisted her palm against the sting as the metal scrapped a line in her pale skin, "And what, pray tell, prompted this new and exciting idea?"

Taking a hearty swig, House swallowed, then replied, "Ol'Jimmy thinks I'm jealous of all the time he's been spending with Cutthroat Bitch," putting his bottle back onto the coffee table, he reached over and uncurled her fisted hand. She watched, startled, as he brushed his thumb lightly over her palm until the red line marking her skin between her thumb and forefinger dissipated, "He seemed to dislike my test-drive idea though."

She didn't want to know; really she didn't. Instead, she was focused on the size difference between her hand and his; as they still lay twined together on his thigh. Covering her shock and awe of the unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome gesture, she took a long pull from her own beer. Swallowing her mouthful, she then informed him, "Speaking of Amber, she dropped by to see me today."

"Did she?" he asked, mimicking her earlier response, "What'd she want?"

"Yeap," she wiped a bit of foam from her upper lip with her tongue, distracting him from listening to what she was saying, "She seems to think that I've got the inside track on you."

"Does she?" he mentally shook himself, focusing on her words and not the pink tip of her tongue and the other uses he could think of for it, "What'd you tell her?"

"That one abysmal date three years ago doesn't equal an inside _any_thing," she took another swig of her beer before continuing, not missing the flicker on his face when she mentioned their only official date from a few years back, "I had no idea what she thought I could do."

"Huh," was all he said, leaning back into the couch cushions, suddenly seeming introspective. Their fingers continued to mingle, but they both had fallen silent; leaving each with their thoughts; until Cameron, growing uneasy in the quiet; leaned back, lightly poked him in the ribs, and informed him, "Then I told her to beat you at your own little game, not to back down just because you puff up like a blowfish and yell."

"Gah woman," he joked wearily, "You keeping giving away my secrets, they'll never fall before me trembling like I like."

"I don't have any of your secrets to give away," Cameron argued unconscientiously, dropping her confused gaze from his and this time missing the flicker over his features at her words.

"You know more than you think," he muttered softly, talking more to his beer than to her. A small hand squeezed around his larger one, a thumbnail traced gentle patterns on his palm, "You're killing my image. The newbs will stop fearing my wrath, and start running recklessly around the hospital. It'll be anarchy."

"I doubt anybody _besides_ you is inciting anarchy," Cameron shuffled her position on the couch, smiling as she leaned close, "You know, I was never actually afraid of you."

----

"Just so you know," Cameron plopped into a chair at the cafeteria table House and Wilson occupied and snagged a chip from the bag House held, "You and I are having an affair and Chase dumped my philandering ass because I'm having your demon spawn."

Wilson began coughing, having made the mistake of taking a bite of his brought-from-home chicken and rice as Cameron made her announcement. His windpipe instantly was clogged, and as Cameron sympathetically held out his cup to him, indicating he should try and take a sip; House clouted him hard on the back. That cleared his throat, along with the sharp bark of a cough that the oncologist unwillingly expelled. Gratefully, he accepted his cup from her and took a deep drink. As Wilson's breathing returned to normal and the smart in his throat eased; House placed a hand on Cameron's flat stomach and assured her belly in a soothing tone,

"S'okay Peanut. Uncle Jimmy's gonna make it."

"You-you-you-you're pregnant?" Wilson finally managed to gasp, loud enough that several heads turned to gaze at their table curiously. But Wilson didn't see that; instead his gaze darted between his two friends, a befuddled look on his face.

While House's face was going a shade of crimson from holding in robust laughter, Cameron courteously informed the baffled oncologist, "No Wilson. It's just another one of the rumors swirling around. I heard it this morning."

"Oh," Wilson's breathing had returned to normal, and he adjusted his tie and collar; having yanked them askew during his choking fit. House couldn't, and didn't bother to hold it in any longer; and snickers leaked from the diagnostician. His former fellow tipped her elbow into his ribs, nudging him. Wilson didn't miss the look that passed between them and, taking another slow sip from his cup, wondered how much they weren't telling him. Returning the paper cup to the table, he asked reasonably, "Why are people spreading rampant pregnancy rumors about you two?"

"Chase isn't half the man I am," House boasted with a wink.

"You sound like you know that from experience," the blonde seated beside him muttered, stealing another chip and popping it into her mouth as he pulled a face.

Fighting back the urge to shudder, Wilson had to ask, "What's going on with you two? Are you—" He paused, lowered his voice and leaned forward, "Are you sleeping together?"

"Busted," Cameron responded blandly, shaking her head, "And we were _so_ clandestine about it too."

"Very cloak and dagger my dear," House added resignedly, "But we could never get one past Jimmy."

"Are you admitting something," Wilson began, his brows drawing together into a deep V on his forehead, "Or are you both screwing with me?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" House threw out, his face completely serious. Beside him, Cameron chortling into her hand; her eyes closed so she missed the death glare Wilson shot House.

"Like what?" over Wilson's shoulder came Amber's voice, and he nearly jumped from his seat as its sudden and unexpected appearance startled him.

"Nothing important," he got out before House could reply with a quip of his own, "Hi, what are you doing here? Did—did we have plans and I missed them, or something?"

"No," Amber smiled sweetly, and House pointed a finger down his throat as he made a gagging noise, "I got finished earlier than I expected, so I thought I'd drop by and see you."

"Aw," Wilson too, was smiling, and as he leaned in to give her a kiss, it was Cameron's grabbing House's wrist tightly and holding it that prevented the perpetually juvenile diagnostician from repeated his gagging gesture, only louder. Their eyes connected, and she shook her head almost imperceivably. _Fine_ he mouthed, rolling his eyes and slumping defiantly back in his chair.

Wilson pulled out a chair for her, and Amber sat; smiling impishly at House first before shining a true smile at Cameron, "Hello House. Hey Allison."

"Hey Amber," Cameron returned the smile, and House looked between the two women as an idea he was sure he didn't like formed,

"Oh no," crystalline blues glared as Amber took a sip from Wilson cup, "You already got your claws into Wilson. You keep your grubby little mitts away from my Cameron."

"_Your _Cameron?" Amber sputtered, returning the paper cup to Wilson's tray and peering from House to Cameron, and then to Wilson, "Sorry, I missed the _Property of House_ sticker on her ass."

An aggravated squeak came from Cameron, but House managed to speak first, "Wilson, it should worry you that she's talking about Cameron's ass. Shapely as it may be."

"How about _none_ of us talk about my ass?" Cameron ordered tersely, willing the flames of the blush the embarrassment had caused on her face to subside, "That work for anybody else?"

"Works for me," Wilson agreed in a small voice, but it was as if no one heard him as Amber continued her glare at House, and the should-be-patented _I'm pissing you off and I like it_ gleam was in House's eye. There was no stopping him now.

"Don't worry about it," House placated, twinkling a tiny but obnoxious smile at her, "Girl, you've got a great butt."

"Thanks," she all but growled, recognizing the line from a recently watched episode of _The OC_, "So do you. Must be all the limping; really tones those muscles eh?"

Wilson was clearly mortified with the path the conversation had taken; Amber was outright laughing, nearly uncontrollably; and Cameron and House stared resolutely at each other, daring each other as House searched for an appropriate retort.

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End file.
